


Better

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And hot as hell, Eyeliner, Fluff, It's For a Case, M/M, One Off, Smut, Women's panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has to dress provocatively for a case and it drives John bonkers. Thank god. They get it on,</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



It was after Irene Adler had taken a sudden and shocking exit from their lives, in a time where John couldn't get her words out of his mind. 'Look at us both,' and Christ, it was true. He'd been infatuated with his flatmate for quite some time, to be honest, but he'd never had it laid out so plainly. Sure, people assumed and insinuated that the two of them were, or should be, together. The media even seemed to have a thing for speculation on the topic. But then, after she'd said it, it became harder to deny.

John had never been any good at accepting things he wasn't ready for, and Sherlock in his bed, even after he'd already found his way into his heart, was just too much to handle. 

It had nothing to do with a sexual crisis, that had come at twenty five with a fellow med student, and everything to do with Sherlock. He didn't feel like that, didn't do those things. John wanted to do things, you see, nasty things, to him. He wanted to spread him open and sink into his delectable heat, wanted to bury fingers in his hair and pull. Wanted desperately to be pathetic and greedy and carnal and nothing like what Sherlock was interested in.

That was why the morning of the fourth of April, when they were supposed to be getting warm weather and were decidedly not, John went to stay with Sarah again. Just for the day, you see, or at least until the evening.

Sherlock had been going on and on about a case he was going to that night and holding up lingerie, bloody lingerie, while John tried desperately to keep his burgeoning erection to himself. It wasn't fair, not at all, that Sherlock was dangling lace in front of him. And, for Christ's sake, lace and silk weren't even his thing, really. But with Sherlock's milky skin and the way his eyes glinted the thought of black lace pressing tightly, tugging at him, John found himself wanting more than he had in quite some time. 

Wanting to rip Sherlock's clothes from his body and take no bloody prisoners.

So he left. Left and didn't look back and thought it was quite a smart move. It didn't work, though, not when Sarah realised he was less in for a reconciliation and instead looking for a shoulder to cry on. She gave him about all the sympathy she could muster for a man that she knew could have what he wanted if he just did something about it, and sent him on his way when he asked to stay the night. 

It was around ten o'clock when John went trudging up the stairs and walked into the flat with his head bowed and his ego somewhere around his knees. He knew it wasn't fair of him to ask Sarah for something she couldn't offer, but he had to do something or he would have lost his mind.

What he found was enough to steal the breath from his lungs and set him to leaning against the front door for support as his knees gave out slightly. 

A wet dream. He was having a wet dream and he'd wake up covered in his own mess and feel like a fool.

When the smell of smoke hit his nostrils he knew it was a shite excuse for the fire he felt building inside himself.

Sherlock was frowning, frowning and leaning against the side of John's chair and tapping away on his mobile. A cigarette dangled precariously from his other hand and John had a mind to rip it from him and stomp it out on the carpet because flatmates shouldn't see their flatmates like that. Flatmates should wear clothes instead of a pair of tight fitting black panties and a pair of worn socks. 

John's eyes were drawn up to Sherlock's mouth as the man took a long drag and blew the smoke from his nostrils. That was the moment John realised he was staring and that Sherlock was wearing black eyeliner, something that made him stare more. Black eyeliner that was a bit smudged, whether artistically or not, and thick and gorgeous in a way it had absolutely no right to be.

He finally swallowed and shook his head and did what he always did when it became too much; he went for a walk.

_____

The case had been a bust, the trafficking ring moving before he could get there, and Sherlock was in a horrid mood. They'd already lost enough of the evidence to make Sherlock look a fool, although it should have been Lestrade looking it, and now they'd lost their chance to do anything about it.

And John. John wasn't being any help. He'd asked John to make something for them to eat and had got no response. He must still have been angry about the case being a one man job, but it was either that or getting him into a pair of skintight pants, and though Sherlock would have appreciated the view it would have taken all his concentration. Not that it had helped.

Sherlock finished the cigarette and lit another, wondering idly when John was going to finally complain about him smoking in the flat.

_____

John waited an hour in the freezing cold before stomping back up the stairs with determination and bursting into the sitting room. Sherlock was in the same position, only slumped a bit like he was slowing turning into a liquid, and on his third cigarette. 

John's lip curled and he puffed out his chest.

"We need to have a talk," Sherlock said before John could get his voice to work. "I understand you're angry you couldn't come on the case, but this silent treatment you've been giving me all night is just..." He paused when he looked up and saw John breathing hard in the doorway. "What?"

"I've been out the whole night," John growled.

"Oh," Sherlock said, looking like he was truly surprised.

"And..." John tried. "And..."

"And what, John?" Sherlock asked angrily, not liking that he'd made John angry and not knowing what to do with the emotions running circles in his brain. "Out with it."

"You're wearing socks!" John shouted.

Sherlock slowly looked down and saw that, yes, he was sock footed. He wasn't exactly sure why it bothered John but by the time he looked up John was sitting on the sofa with his laptop grumbling about secondhand smoke and refusing to meet his eye.

It took Sherlock nearly a half hour to go through everything in his mind palace that had to do with socks but once he'd found it, the one bit of information he needed, he sat bolt upright.

"Oh, John," he said softly.

John glanced up at his change in demeanor and blushed as Sherlock reached down to pull his socks off.

"Is that better?" he asked nervously as he tossed them to the floor.

John swallowed roughly and nodded. "Less off putting, yes."

"But the panties aren't? Off putting?" Sherlock asked in what he hoped was a slightly seductive tone. It failed because of the tremor in his voice.

"Not particularly," John said, looking at the screen.

"What about the eyeliner?" Sherlock pressed.

"You know bloody well what you look like," John said a bit harshly.

Sherlock looked ashamed and John back peddled quickly.

"Gorgeous," he choked out. "You look gorgeous."

Sherlock's eyes went wide and his cheeks coloured and John set the laptop aside with a sigh. Sherlock made a high whining noise in his throat when John patted his lap, and then went to straddle it hesitantly. John's eyebrows knit and he brushed a thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone.

"John," Sherlock breathed out softly.

"Yeah," John replied with a small smile. "Same here."

Sherlock smiled back, it nearly giddy and lopsided, and John pulled him down for a kiss, not really caring about the taste of cigarettes.

It wasn't rough or desperate as he'd dreamed it a million times over. It was something more. It was understanding and slow and ridiculously intimate and when he found himself getting hard he didn't want it to be any different.

He gripped Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer before unzipping his denims and pulling his cock out.

"You can say no," he whispered. "I know we haven't talked about it and-"

"Please," Sherlock said instead. "Im clean. You're clean. I want this. No more excuses."

John pulled him in for another kiss and pressed his cock forward to slot next to Sherlock's erection where it strained against the silk panties. He rolled his hips once and groaned into Sherlock's mouth before dropping his head to kiss Sherlock's neck as he started up a slow rhythm. 

"God," Sherlock whispered roughly.

"Yeah?" John asked, lips brushing against hot skin as he reached his right hand down to massage Sherlock's bollocks through the slippery material.

Sherlock nodded and swallowed hard and let his head loll back as his hips started to thrust on their own.

"That's it, Sher, let go," John said softly, growing closer to climax at an alarming rate.

Sherlock whined and John rocked against him harder.

"Never thought, Jesus, didn't think you were..." John tried.

"Gay?" Sherlock rumbled.

John giggled and shook his head. "Horny."

Sherlock giggled too at that and then sighed like he hadn't really relaxed in years.

"Nice surprise, this was," John said as he felt himself slipping. "Would you like to come for me, gorgeous?"

Sherlock nodded and whimpered and John focussed his attention on the heads of their pricks and pulled the lacy trim down a bit.

"Gonna ruin these panties?" John asked, pressing the fingers of his right hand against Sherlock's perineum.

Sherlock shivered and thrust his hips and started to do exactly that. John cursed under his breath and continued his fevered massaging until they were both spent and giggling in each other's arms.

"You have a thing for women's clothes?" Sherlock asked once he got his breath back.

"I have a thing for you," John corrected, "no matter the clothing. Course the eyeliner is sexy as fuck."

Sherlock batted his lashes and then slumped against John's chest.

"We're disgusting," he murmured.

"Yeah, well, nothing we haven't seen," John said with a happy sigh.

"Little different than the Thames," Sherlock added.

"Mmm," John replied. "Better."

Sherlock breathed deeply and proceeded to fall asleep in John's lap, the case forgot and his heart much lighter.


End file.
